Stinging Nettles (Adopted)
by Trickster True
Summary: Petunia had always hated gardening, despite her love for flowers. And so Harry Potter, from a very young age, was sent out to the gardens to work. But when his hands brush against a stinging nettle, everything changes. Now a Harry with a bit of a different goal in mind is sent to Hogwarts, armed with a bit more knowledge. (Adopted from FrostedDusk.)
1. Chapter 1

Petunia Dursley _nee-_ Evans was a perfectly average woman. She had a perfectly healthy son, a perfect man with a perfectly stable job, and a perfect house on a perfect street. _She_ was perfect.

Everything about her was perfect. She had a long neck, all the fashion now. Her waist was thin and her arms were thinner, perfect for this age. She didn't work, giving her plenty of time at home to spoil her only child - also very perfect - until he was perfect too.

But dirt on her knees and blisters on her hands were _not_ perfect, and so it was perfectly acceptable that Petunia Dursley did no such thing as gardening.

But oh, how her gardens were the talk of the town. Immaculate rows of cat-grass and blooming bushes of roses all trimmed to perfection. Red and white hyacinths sprouted along every square inch, never quite bumping into each other yet the perfect distance apart. If a single blade of grass were to make it past her garden walls it would last nary a day before it was plucked out from the dirt.

Petunia lavished in the attention, making sure to always have her hands spread out so her neighbors could see the untainted and silken smooth skin there. She never had more than a speck of dirt under her fingernails that were always filed to perfection.

Perfection?

If she could, Petunia would swear that was her middle name.

But her gardens were not labored over by either her nor her husband, and she wouldn't subject her boy Dudley to bending over dirt and plants.

No, Petunia had another secret - a perfect one.

And her little secret was currently working out in the gardens, keeping them perfect.

Harry Potter swiped a hand over his brow, sweat glistening on the edges. His hands were scratchy with the thin covering of dirt, and he longed to wipe them away. But even he, in his nine-year-old mindset, knew he had to finish gardening before he could wash up. The hose was lying right at his side, but that was for rose bushes when he was done - they weren't getting enough water from the sprinklers, and the rage Aunt Petunia had flown into when she discovered a browning leaf was deeply imprinted on his mind. She had told him that if she were to find another non-green leaf, he would be the one paying for it. So he was going to drown those bushes so they would be just as green as they could be.

The sun beat powerfully down on him, hitting him like an actual wave. He didn't mind gardening that much; after four years of doing it, he found he almost enjoyed it. But when the sun was high and blazing, he wished he could do it at any different time. He enviously watched the few clouds skirting away. They had covered the sun for a few minutes before leaving. The shade had been nice, brief as it was. With his shaggy black hair, the sun was even more attracted to him, if what his Science teacher had said was correct.

Using calculated motions, Harry stood up, careful not to disturb the hyacinth he had been weeding. A strangler root had wrapped around its stem and it had been difficult to fully unwrap it. He walked over to the next bunch of cat-grass. It was long and thin, with blue-green stems that flowed in the wind. He kneeled, the woodchips biting into his unprotected legs. He had forgone protection for shorts, and couldn't have been happier that he did.

Harry dipped his hands into the stems, shifting them apart to search for weeds at their roots. He closed his eyes for a second, their tired weights slipping shut.

So it was quite the surprise when something bit him.

He yelped, falling backward. His hand flew to his face, burning emerald eyes flicking over every surface. Through his thin wired glasses, he saw a tiny needle poking out of his skin, embedded right on his fingertip.

Using the barest tip of his fingernails, he grabbed onto the needle and pulled it out of his skin. He was rewarding when the twanging in his finger mostly went away, although it stung slightly. He put the needle out on his palm and looked at it.

It was tiny and clear colored. He wouldn't have noticed it if it didn't make his finger ache.

Harry shot his attention back to the cat-grass, eyeing the stems with distrust. He didn't want to search back through it, but he knew that Aunt Petunia would kill him and use his body as fertilizer if he didn't find the little monster - he had heard the threat enough to know.

Carefully, oh so carefully, Harry dipped his fingers into the front of the cat-grass and pulled it apart.

To his surprise, he came face-to-face with neither a rodent or a snake or even a creature at it.

It was a plant.

Maybe a foot tall, it had thick dark green leaves with a rough patterning. It had a skinny stem with several tiny buds along the top, and one was already beginning to sprout into a teensy yellow bloom.

Harry recognized this plant. Aunt Petunia had told him that if he ever found one like he was to burn it in the back to avoid it spreading. It was a stinging nettle. He moved closer, his nose only inches away from a leaf. Looking closer, he saw the same tiny needles he found in his finger all over its stem.

He cocked his head to one side, the cat-grass brushing against his black hair. Carefully he reached out a finger to tap along the stem, only to hiss in pain and shoot his hand backward. It burned wildly, focused on a tiny pinprick on his finger. It was like when he had been stung by a bee; it stung and stung but only in one spot.

He leaned back, rocking backward until he was sitting cross-legged. Bringing his finger back up to his eye level, he looked at the tiny needle in his skin. This one was slightly crooked, he noticed. Using his fingernails, he carefully pried the needle from his finger. He rolled it between his fingers, watching the very tip of it flash in the light.

Harry Potter wouldn't realize it for several years later, but that was the moment was hooked.

He, as if acting on some instinct, carefully pushed the cat-grass back over the nettle. The seat of blue-green stems swallowed it up, only a hint of the dark green leaves poking over the top. Harry left the stinging nettle in the garden, perhaps the first time he directly disobeyed his Aunt Petunia.

He stood up, brushing dirt off of his knees. It stuck to his fingers no matter how much it flicked them through the air, trying to knock them loose. He moved a half a foot to the left and knelt again, woodchips pressing into his legs.

He focused on the cat-grass in front of him, carefully digging his fingers through it so check around the roots for any other weeds or blades of grass. There was nothing but a small clover, which was quickly pulled out and tossed behind him, where it would be swept up and thrown in the trash later.

But as much as he concentrated, his mind always went back to the stinging nettle.

The sun was well out of its high spot in the sky when a small boy walked around the back of Privet Drive, Number 4.

Harry, having finished gardening, was walking over to the park that was only a block or two behind his house. It was wonderfully close, and Harry had taken many days on the swingset, gently rocking back and forth while thinking. He couldn't get very high, as he was just about the size of a twig, but it was soothing just swaying softly.

The grass crunched under his feet, still partially frozen from the winter that had only just given way to spring. He guessed he was lucky Aunt Petunia didn't send him out to garden earlier in the spring, with the frosts that came every night and the biting winds that brought snow and hail. But now the sun was back with a fury, and the back of his neck felt like he could probably fry an egg on it, despite him having finished his gardening almost an hour earlier. It had been an interesting session, at least.

The stinging nettle. Aunt Petunia had told him to never let one live, but he had not only kept it alive, he had left it _in_ her garden. Harry felt like berating himself for being so stupid, but the plant had gotten a hold on him. The call of the poisonous sting he felt, it was something he had never experienced before in his life. He could feel a phantom sting on his finger when he thought about it, which was _definitely_ not normal or perfect.

Maybe stinging nettles had something that made him think strangely. Harry resolved that on Monday he would go to the school library and find a book on it. He already spent a good portion of his time there, as it was the perfect hiding spot from Dudley and his gang. He doubted that Dudley had ever read a book past ' _Tommy and His Red Wagon_ '. He grinned widely at the thought.

A branch snapped below his feet and he jumped, startled. His gaze snapped in front of him and he found himself nearly walking past the pack, heading towards the woods beyond. A scarlet blush bright enough to stop a train bloomed on his cheeks, even though there was no one to see him.

Harry skipped backward until he was at the swingset. The slightly rusted surface was still shiny, and the seats were made of the same black plastic. He grinned at it, trotting over to the second swing, his favorite.

He clambered on, sitting on the seat. His feet grazed the woodchips below and he pushed as hard as he could, sending him moving backward. Soon he had a decent pace going, rocking neatly back and forth.

Harry lounged, leaning back against one chain. It creaked in protest but Harry didn't move, closing his eyes and letting the familiar rocking motion lull him into relaxation. He had about three hours until it was dinner; he had checked the clock before coming out here.

The chain groaned slightly as he leaned deeper onto his backrest, but Harry ignored it. This was his little world, where he could be King as long as he closed his eyes and imagined it. A world all for himself.

The snap of woodchips was the only warning he got.

A punch hit him strongly in the back. His eyes snapped open but he was already falling, toppling forward. Wood chips pressed into his glasses while his body tried to recover.

Harry pushed up, his fingers biting into the sharp chunks of wood. He had a pretty good idea of who did that. He turned around, a slight cut on his cheek from a piece of bark. It stung slightly but faded after only a second.

Dudley Dursley was the bane of Harry Potter's existence. At a mere nine years of age, he was more obese than most adults, proportionately. He had a love for all things sweet and a dislike for things that began with 'Harry' and ended with 'Potter'.

He was a round beachball with a flop of blond hair on the top of his head and no visible neck. His blue eyes were already small for his face but were narrowed even further when he looked at the boy on the ground in front of him.

Harry licked his lips before fully turning around to face Dudley and his gang, emerald eyes already hardened and determined. This was his life; he sure knew how to deal with it.

There was Dudley, the great fat loaf himself. A scrawny boy named Pierre who Harry was pretty sure cheated on every test. The muscle of the team was Richie, with powdery blond hair that looked like it had been bleached.

"Hello, freak." Dudley shot at Harry, but the boy barely blinked. Using the same nickname over the course of many years had made its toll on him rather little. Harry could have almost wished he was a bit more creative, but he didn't dare say a word.

"What're you doing on the ground?" Richie grunted out, his brown eyes glinting. His fingers were clenching and unclenching, and Harry's eyes flicked in between those and his face constantly. The group of boys guffawed, but there was still the squeak of their prepubescent voices.

Harry shifted around until he was sitting on the ground, hands braced behind him. He knew that if he ran harder enough in any random direction he could get away safe and sound. His bright eyes flicked in between all of the boys, trying to find the best way out.

But Harry Potter was merely nine years old, and he was not known for the best strategies in the world.

The rustling of leaves was only drowned out by the splintering and scattering woodchips as Harry tried to stand up but fell flat on his face.

His shoe had caught under his own feet as he tried to both spin and stand up at the same time, plopping him right back down.

Dudley, Pierre, and Richie only stared in a rather stunned silence, eyes wide. Then Pierre broke out in loud, rambunctious laughter, one that echoed around the playground. Dudley and Ritchie joined in a second later.

Harry groaned into ground. His shoulder ached something awful after having smacked it onto the ground, and his nose pounded. The sound of the gang's laughter echoed above him, loud and humiliating. He shifted, trying to force his weight underneath his body so he could stand up.

A foot landed squarely on his back, shoving him back to the ground. Harry let out an 'oof', limbs splayed out on either side of him. Hs struggled upward slightly, but the weight increased until he was just laying there, trying not to move.

"Richie." Dudley shuffled slightly, feet tapping against the ground. "What are you doing?"

"I bet I could break a bone," Richie taunted, shifting his weight slightly. He raised one large, meaty hand as if he would try to punch Harry, but had realized he was too low. "Do ya think I could?"

Dudley's brow gleamed suddenly, like a layer of sweat had appeared on it. He jittered back and forth, hands clenching and unclenching. "I don't think you should do that. What if we get caught?" Pierre was dancing backward, too, his brown eyes flashing from Harry to Richie.

"Don't you dare," Harry said as strongly as he could muster, his voice snapping off at the end. He turned his head as far as he could to stare up at Richie, who wasn't doing anything to decrease the weight on his back. "Don't you even think about it."

They'd never threatened to break a bone before; it was only a few straggled punches and a kick or two. There'd never been anything to actually hurt him before.

Richie wasn't intimidated. "Or you'll do what?" He sneered, raising his foot slightly like he would stomp on Harry.

Harry saw the opportunity and snapped at it. He crawled as fast as he could away from the gang, shooting as fast as he could to a reasonable distance. He scrambled at the ground, pushing up with his feet. He shot to his feet, staring at Richie.

The boy looked at him with a rather confused look in his eye, lowering his foot back to the ground and the path of scattered woodchips.

Harry's eyes flicked in between all of them again as if something would change. He shook his head as if it would clear thoughts, slowly backing up. His gaze fell upon Dudley and narrowed.

Harry waited only a second before turning around and booking it. He sprinted as fast as he could through the park, shooting out on the other side. The sun was closing in on the horizon, sending shadows over his path.

The path was well worn, with footprints pressed onto every part. The path ran straight up to the sidewalk on Privet Drive, so all in all, it was only a five to ten minute run there. Though Harry couldn't run all the way. He paused once. Maybe twice.

He was nine bloody years old, thank you very much.

Number four was quickly approaching when the sun started to touch the horizon. Harry trotted the rest of the way there, calming his quick and shallow breaths. He turned in every direction but didn't see any of the members of the gang, much less Dudley.

Harry crept back to the house, going into the garden. He was so, so careful not to step on anything, even hopping for a fair distance to avoid cat-grass. He ducked underneath the windowsill, nearly hitting his head on it. He waited for a second but didn't hear anything. Slowly, he peeked his head up to glance over the sill.

His gaze met a blank looking living room with a rather large telly and two long couches neatly tucked up in one corner. On the opposite wall, there was a long counter made of light tan wood and a spider webbed gray granite. On the wall, there was a digital clock, which Harry's attention snapped to.

 _5:48pm_

Still twelve minutes until he needed to start cooking. He ducked back underneath the windowsill, examining his surroundings. The rosebushes were right in front of him but with a careful jump of the bunch hyacinths, he would be fine. Executing it as best he could, he managed to get over with only a disturbed spot of dirt. He quickly knelt and smoothed it out, placing wood chips over it. His attention slid over to a lone patch of cat-grass by his left elbow.

Slowly, almost hypnotically, he parted the blue-green stems. The bumpy, dark green leaves and thin stalk glittering with tiny needles stared up at him, barely hidden within the cat-grass. Harry watched it sway slightly in a breeze, brushing up against the other stems. He remembered Dudley, the punch to his back, the foot squashing him into the ground.

He looked up, but couldn't see the clock from there. But from a rough guess, Harry though he might still have ten minutes before he had to cook. Reaching forward, he began to pull off some of the needles one by one, wincing whenever one stung him. The stinging nettle stood strong throughout it all.

Harry laid underneath the stairs in a tiny room that he had to curl his legs to his chest to fit comfortably. He was wide awake, having only been sent here a few minutes ago. His ears were pricked towards the ceiling, focusing, waiting.

A cry of surprise echoed through the house down to him, and Harry Potter smiled.

Dudley sure hadn't expected needles in his covers.

* * *

 **Bam! Here's a new story I've had for a while. Sorry for my WDNWTF fans, but I want to also write this.**

 **This, to my knowledge and much scourging of fanfiction, is a very different story than most. I hope you can enjoy it and even offer suggestions. That's actually something that's very important to me; I want everyone to help out with this story. SO if you have even the slightest idea for me, submit it! You just might get in and there's no bad thigns that happen, so why not? Easy way to get your way in a (hopefully) good story!**

 **But let me make it** _ **very**_ **clear: Harry is NOT going to be dark and evil. He simply has a…** _ **disorder**_ **and a certain grudge against the Dursleys. He won't be torturing them or anything. Sorry evil Harry fans… :/**

 **But anyway! Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**

* * *

 _ **Hey Trickster True here. Now I'm sure that many of you will recognize this story and for those of you who don't know for whatever reason, FrostedDusk had put up this story, Stinging Nettles, for adoption. Quite obviously, I adopted it. I'm here to say I will be posting a chapter at least once a week so I can write more and edit where it's due.**_

 _ **I'm also here inform everyone that all of the chapters that Frost wrote will not be edited and that, yes, I am keeping her ANs in here. Where she left off is where MY writing will begin, so if my writing doesn't do this story justice then tell me when the time comes so I can either fix it or – if there are too many people saying that my writing isn't good enough for this story – give it back to her so she can find someone better for it. Because this is just such an awesome story. The second she ever decides to continue this and I haven't gotten my writing up then I'll see if she'll want me to stop, if my writing is up then I'll try my hardest to not make it seem like it's a sibling story or whatever.**_

 _ **If you're just stumbling across this then go to FrostedDusk's page and give her your praises, not me. This is her story at the moment, until my writing is up I hold no claim to it.**_


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter, nine-year-old extraordinaire, had never been so excited to be woken up.

Sure, the cupboard under the stairs was dark and thundered horribly whenever anyone walked down the stairs, but this time he had something he wanted to see outside of the cupboard.

Dudley Dursley.

Ever since Harry had found a baby stinging nettle in the cat-grass he was forced to garden, his entire life had changed overnight. He had taken _revenge_ on Dudley. He had gotten the last laugh.

And he couldn't wait to see the results.

A handful of tiny stinging nettle needles scattered inside of Dudley's sheets, though Harry had had to pick several out of his own skin afterward. Then he had dashed back downstairs and started to hurriedly throw ingredients to create the stew he had already planned. The meat had been all-too-quickly chopped up, sending tiny bits of fat over the counters. The noodles he had found in the back of the pantry were partially broken and he had had to break the rest to make it even. The carrots had been sliced up with the speed of a cheetah.

He had set the table, making three different settings. Then he had taken the smallest bowl the Dursley's had and scooped himself up a bowl of chicken noodle soup, barely making a dent in the bowl that was nearly the size of himself.

Sneaking away to the laundry room to eat his meal in peace and quiet, Harry had waited for Dudley to go to bed and then wake up.

Now the moment was here. He heard the familiar thudding of his Uncle pounding down the stairs, and the shower of dust fell lightly across his face, getting trapped in his hair. He coiled by the door, ready to emerge out. His fingers tapped along his thighs, already changed into his clothes for the school day.

The thudding sounded right outside his door, before stopping. Harry heard the click of the latch only seconds before Uncle Vernon's booming voice echoed throughout his skull.

"Get up, boy!"

Harry sprang out of the cupboard, nearly smacking his head on the wooden bar. But he righted himself and was ready to go, small school bag swung over his shoulders. He glanced both directions, but Dudley hadn't come down yet. Harry pouted slightly before turning to the right, heading towards the kitchen.

He walked inside, seeing Uncle Vernon already sitting at the table with three pieces of toast in front of him and the paper spread in front of his face. There wasn't even a grunt as Harry walked by, which was fine with him.

Harry headed to the fridge, carefully setting his bag by his feet. He pried open the doors, the chill from the handles seeping into his skin. He scanned the contents quickly, finding what he needed fast.

The remnants of the chicken noodle soup were packed in a small package by the floor, having been put there himself. The Dursley's always ate so much, but they wouldn't accept leftovers when Harry made them a new dinner every night. So any leftovers were shoved onto him for breakfast or lunch.

Harry was perfectly fine with this. He simply adored soup, leftover or not. He carefully pulled the package out from the fridge, testing its weight in one hand. Just enough for his breakfast. He pulled off the plastic lid, setting that on the counter. He put the soup container in the microwave, setting the timer.

It was then that he heard a distant shriek from Aunt Petunia and slow, heavy thuds of someone coming down the stairs.

It was also then that Harry realized if he was caught having needled Dudley, his head would hang.

Harry hurriedly tapped his foot, spoon already clenched in his hand. The school bag was on his shoulders and he had located his shoes, but it seemed the soup was taking extra long to cook. Uncle Vernon grunted once and Harry quickly stopped tapping his foot.

A pleasant 'ding!' later and Harry was practically ripping open the microwave to get at his soup, darting off with it to the front door. He shoved his feet in his shoes, knowing he'd tie them later. He shoveled spoonfuls of soup in his mouth, careful not to spill.

It burned a path down his throat but now he watched Uncle Vernon look up from his paper as Aunt Petunia cried out again, and Dudley's footsteps grew ever nearer. He sped back to the kitchen, dumping the empty bowl of soup into the sink. Uncle Vernon was standing up, paper clenched in one hand.

Harry's hand was inches from the door when the demon that was Aunt Petunia erupted from behind him.

"WHO'S TOUCHED MY DIDDYKINS?"

Harry swallowed the urge to laugh and wrenched open the door, speeding outside. He closed it as quietly as he could and was out on the front porch, peeking around the front door to glance at the window.

Uncle Vernon was on his feet, face a burnt red and mouth open, probably bellowing. His hands shook with a mighty rage and his paper was ripped up by his feet. Aunt Petunia was crouched in front of Dudley, eyes flicking over every part of him to see where he was injured. Her hand flew to her lips. But Dudley…

He was wailing, great tears splashing down his face and onto his pajamas. His hands were clenched in fists and his face was screwed shut.

But the priceless thing was the giant rash spreading from his neck to his cheek. It was massive and had several large red bumps, where the needles probably were.

Harry made it a few steps away from the house before almost falling over in a fit of laughter. His stomach clenched and shook, his arms limp and useless. He knew that if he saw himself his face would be as red as Uncle Vernon's.

He stayed that way for a few minutes, collapsed on the pavement in endless peals of laughter. He didn't care about whether the neighbors saw him, whether someone called the police or even if he was abducted right then and there.

 _Nothing_ was as satisfying or hilarious as what Harry had seen right there.

But soon the tears of mirth stopped falling and he was able to pick himself off of the floor. His chest still ached and his legs were noticeably weaker than before, but he knew he had to get to school soon.

Harry turned to one side and saw his school bag had fallen off, and one of his books were poking out. Stifling a grunt he picked it up, swinging it over his shoulders and wincing when the heavy books hit his back.

The teachers at his school were evil, he swore.

Sighing once more and letting a stray giggle out, Harry began the walk to his school.

 _The Urtica Dioica, also known as the common nettle or stinging nettle, is a poisonous plant native to Europe, Asia, Africa, and Northern American. This little plant brings a sting, so make sure to avoid it! The plant has broad, pattern leaves that…_

Harry sighed and shut the book, wiping at his eyes. That was the first of the books the librarian had been able to pull out for him, yet the end of lunch was only twenty-two minutes away.

He idly wondered if time was speeding up particularly for him. If so, he disliked the gesture.

Harry tapped his fingers along the spine of the book, labeled _Native Europe Plants_. The other two books were called _All About Weeds_ and _Poisonous Plants Found Right in Your Backyard!_

At least one of them had something to do with poison, so he flipped it open. The first was a table of contents, which he skimmed quickly. There was an entire chapter devoted to Nettles. His excitement growing, he flipped past dozens of chapters until he arrived at page _238_.

 _There are many different names associated with Urtica Dioica, with the most common being the Stinging Nettle. Others include the Burning Nettle, Nettle, or Nettle leaf._

 _The Nettle is a plant that has been used by cultures for generations. It has been eaten as a scavenging plant, applied medicinally to the skin, and drunk as herb tea. It has even been woven into fabric as a fiber._

 _But the hairs along its spine will inject several neurotransmitters to those who touch it, and the hairs will harden and become indented into the flesh of the toucher._

 _It lives best in partially shady areas with moist fertile soil, though it can grow well in almost all zones._

Harry shut the book, rocking it back and forth in his hand. The nettles grew well in partially shady areas, such as an area with many tall trees overhead casting shadows. A plan took seed in his mind and began to sprout.

 _Nettles, not being extremely poisonous, do not have many side effects when stung. The hair will inject as much poison that it has inside of it but will remain in the skin until removed. It is widely speculated that an overdose on nettles could result in upset stomachs and potentially diarrhea._

Diarrhea… Harry winced for the mess when he got home. Maybe he shouldn't have given Dudley such a _large_ dose.

He thought of his own little stinging nettle plant - _when did he start to think of it as his?_ \- and of the forest only ten minutes behind his house. There must be a small clearing in there somewhere, a place that a little nettle plant could grow and flourish.

He stood up, green eyes flashing to the clock above the door. He had around five minutes to get to class and put the books back. He slid the first two, _Native Europe Plants_ and _All About Weeds_ , back into their spots along the shelves. But he kept the last book and walked up to the librarian, who had been checking out two other students. Another kid looked back at him before turning back to the man.

"Mr. Kegg?" Harry said, placing the book upon the counter. The man looked down at him, bushy brown hair poking up in every which way. "I'd like to borrow this book, please."

The man looked over the cover, starting slightly when he read it. His eyes darted over to Harry, then back at the book. "School project?" He asked, taking the book from its place on the counter.

Harry paused for a second, thinking about it. He shook his head, idly wondering if he would ever get a class on poisonous plants. He wanted one.

"Okay, then." Mr. Kegg yawned slightly. "You can only have one non-school book out at a time, and it must be returned before two weeks. You know the drill." He stamped the book on the inside cover, sliding it back across the counter to the boy.

"Okay, sir!" Harry chirped, snatching up the book and taking off to the door. He had less than a minute to get to class.

But if only Harry had read the _All About Weeds_ , he would have found a very important fact written on the first page about nettles.

 _Always use gloves when handling these plants!_

"OW!"

Another cry echoed around Privet Drive, specifically in front of number four.

Harry knelt in front of the garden, his hands buried in a small bush of cat-grass. But every few seconds he would flinch back, pulling his hands out. He would pull another needle from his skin and then plunge in again. This pattern repeated itself many, many times. But Harry Potter was the most determined nine-year-old any had ever seen and he was getting this plant out of the garden!

He carefully spread the blue-green stems, baring the plant to the world. Its dangerous stem glimmered up at him, seeming to taunt him. Harry stuck his tongue out at it.

He had been planning to grab it by the roots and pull it out like he did with all of the pricker plants he had to weed. But this nettle's stem seemed to extend into the ground, and he couldn't dig lest he break cat-grass roots. That could _not_ happen. He tried again, reaching for a relatively bare patch of stem. A second later, he was pulling back his hand and pulling another needle from it.

"Boy!" He heard a shout and he looked up to the front porch. There, in all of her long necked glory, stood Aunt Petunia, hands on her hips. She had stayed in Dudley's room all day and hadn't come out, and Harry had thought he could get away with it. He let the cat-grass slid back over the nettle, standing up.

"What are you doing?" She sniffed, delicately walking over to him. She stopped directly over him, noticing him over a patch of cat-grass. "Are you harming my plants?" Her brow began lowering and her hands twitched.

"No, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied dutifully. He knelt down again, shoving his hands into the stems. He pushed them apart, baring the nettle out to her. He suddenly wondered if Aunt Petunia could recognize that Dudley had been stung by a nettle. His back prickled slightly.

"Oh!" She sniffed. "Why haven't you gotten rid of it yet?"

Harry couldn't stop the slight blush spreading over his cheeks. "I can't grab it," he explained, "it keeps stinging my hands." He held out his hands, which were a bright red. There were several small bumps, but he had already pulled out the needles.

"Well, you idiot boy. You are allowed to go to the shed in the back and grab a pair of gloves."

Harry almost shot up, surprised. How could he have been so stupid as to not ask for gloves? Aunt Petunia would have let him if he was getting rid of a stinging nettle!

"But if I find you using the new ones I bought, I will let Vernon deal with you." She promised, turning on her heel and stalking back to the house. He waited until she had shut the front door before he shot to his feet, running around the side of the house. There was a small shed there that Uncle Vernon kept his lawn mower in.

He pulled open the door, walking inside. A wave of dust hit him like a wave, and he quickly coughed and waved hands in front of his face to clear it. He peered inside, looking around.

There were two large shelves on either wall, opposite of each other. They were neatly organized with trowels, handheld rakes, and several little bags of vitamin pellets. The mower was parked in the very back, covered under a tan tarp to prevent dust from covering it. He walked inside, scanning along the shelves. Nothing looked like it had been touched in a very, very long time.

He found a pair of gloves, ones that were covered in a thick layer of dust. He picked them and shook them violently, revealing their colors. They were a dark green with brown pads on the palm and fingers and looked kind of pretty. Harry shook them again, before slipping his hands in them. They fit well enough, but when he shook his hands they slid around a bit. But when his hands grew bigger they'd fit perfectly.

He turned around and walked out of the shed, carefully shutting the door behind him. He didn't want to risk Aunt Petunia's ire. He noticed there wasn't a latch on the door.

Harry trotted back around the side of the house to the garden, easily picking out the bush of cat-grass that held the nettle inside. The stems were all messed up; pointing in directions they weren't supposed to. He would have to fix that before Aunt Petunia saw.

He knelt again, spotting the dark green leaves. He reached forward, carefully. His hand closed around the stem.

There were no tiny needles stabbing into him.

He whooped with delight, fully grabbing onto the stem. He carefully avoided pulling on any of the leaves, before yanking it out the ground. Its roots gave way with a slight shower of dirt. He held it up, looking at its rather pitiful size now that it wasn't trying to stab him.

He stood up, still tightly holding onto the plant. He started to walk towards the house, slipping around the edge and onto the sidewalk that ran next to the house. Harry started to run, dirt falling from the roots with every step he took.

The path seemed longer now that he was worried about the nettle, but he paid it no mind, running hard. The sun, despite being a quarter of the way to the horizon, beat down harshly on his face. But he could see the rusty swing set of the park and he knew he was close. He darted around the wood chips and headed towards the woods.

He had been in here times before. The trees were spaced far apart, large enough to drive Uncle Vernon's car through. He walked on, staring up at the sky. He needed to find a place with partial sun.

After only a few minutes of walking, he found it.

A small clearing that had two small trees on either side. They weren't tall enough to block the sun so beams of light filtered through and smacked against the ground, lighting up the seabed of green grass and clover. Harry grinned.

He knelt down, closing a spot of sunlight right in the middle. He switched hands so that his left was holding the nettle and started to dig with his right. His hand dipped easily into the dirt, and he could feel the slight dampness of water in it. This was _perfect_.

Once the hole was big enough he plopped the nettle right inside of it, its roots buried. He dumped handfuls of dirt over it until it was flat ground with a thin green plant poking out.

He settled back on his heels, a smile on his lips. He had saved a stinging nettle plant from Aunt Petunia and gotten himself something to take care of. He watched as a sunbeam came down and hit it.

Something brown flashed in the corner of his vision. He swiveled his head to the right and caught a sight of something coming over the roots of a small tree.

It was a snake. It had light brown scales with a black zigzag down its back, looking like it water as it slid over and under branches and grass. Harry watched it curiously. Aunt Petunia said he should always kill snakes if he saw them, but he was already disobeying her by keeping the nettle, so he didn't think he should follow her rules now.

As the snake grew nearer, Harry frowned. Someone was talking.

" _Hello_?" He asked, not noticing his voice slipping into hissing undertones.

* * *

 **Sweet! Another chapter! Hope you guys enjoy this; I enjoyed writing it. But seriously, my hand is cramping. Two long chapters in two short days. You guys are spoiled xD**

 **Anyway! So now Harry's got himself a stinging nettle and a meeting with a snake. This snake, for those who ask, will** _ **not**_ **be magical and tell Harry everything about the wizarding world. I do respect stories like that, but it seems a bit contrived and too easy. I'm going to make Harry work for his knowledge of magic!Now, I know that most stories would shoot directly to Harry going onto the train to Hogwarts with a little backstory for his new personality, but I've decided to do it in a bit more detail. So yeah, by my planning, there will be fourteen chapters until Harry goes to Diagon Alley.**

 **But Harry's also got a stinging nettle in his own little clearing. Yes, this is on public property. Yes, someone could find the clearing. Yes, that could be a plot point xD**

 **Now, I know that most stories would shoot directly to Harry going onto the train to Hogwarts with a little backstory for his new personality, but I've decided to do it in a bit more detail. So yeah, by my planning, there will be fourteen chapters until Harry goes to Diagon Alley.**

 **But hey, if you really want me to speed up, just tell me!**

 **Please read and review!**

 **Frost OUT!**

* * *

 _ **Hey Trickster here. Once again, this story is not 'mine' until at least chapter twenty two, which will be my writing. and I do not own Harry Potter.**_


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